Table Tied
by goat dono
Summary: Gin/Matsumoto. Some days, Matsumoto really needed an escape.


**Rating:** M (dub-con, oral, D/s, BDSM, dissociation, visual and tactile hallucinations)

**Disclaimer:** Bleach is the property of Tite Kubo.

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**Table Tied**

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Every once in a while, Matsumoto would get a day off. If she was lucky, she would spend it shopping, being pampered at the spa, drinking tea in sophisticated little cafés.

If she was unlucky, she'd spend her day here.

She was never quite sure what this place had been before, but she had her suspicions. Judging from the remote location, the rusted vats and frames in the clearing outside, and the assortment of scrapers and spikes and other cruel-looking implements scattered about, this had been the workshop of a _burakumin,_ likely a tanner or furrier of some sort. Her guess was bolstered by the distinctive smell in the air. It was the type of odor that is so faint as to be barely detectable, but when you do notice it, it becomes pervasive.

The sweet scent of death.

It permeated the grease-stained wood of the table she lay upon; yet another of the enigmatic metaphors that Gin so fondly forced her to contemplate. Usually, he would bring her here and subject her to whatever perversion had caught his fancy that day, and then let her go. Usually. Not always.

Today he brought her, stripped her, hog-tied her, and left her face down on the table without a word, as the sun set and gave way to the cold night and the darkness and the vindictive ghosts of the wolves who had been robbed of their pelts in the clearing. She lay there and shivered, her skin crawling with imaginary insects that sometimes were real.

When it became unbearable, as it always did, she slipped away into a moment of darkness that grayed, then reddened, then blossomed into warm, golden light.

Sitting up, she drew a hand across her brow and looked about for her sword. Haineko was curled up on an enormous, ornate cushion, twitching and cooing in her sleep as she dreamed of sake and bishōnen.

_Good_, though Matsumoto, _I don't feel like talking to her anyway. Hoooo!_

She yawned and stretched luxuriously, rolling around on the velvet couch covering the broad central daïs of the seraglio. When she tired of that, she meandered across the marble floor and sat before the mirrors to dress her hair and apply makeup, turning this way and that to admire the effect. She dabbed exotic perfume on her neck, which was ornamented with a broad, intricate collar of gold and lapis instead of an ugly steel chain.

Artfully decorated, she stood and dropped her robe at the edge of the elaborately tiled bath, dipping her shapely foot into the glittering water.

There was no bottom.

Stepping in, she fell through the golden light, into the reddish haze and out of the gray gloom, but there was no blackness at the end like there was at the beginning. It was morning now, just before dawn to be exact, and everything was misty silver, and stars, as Gin slapped her out of her reverie.

He pulled her onto the floor and turned her over. Leaving her wrists and ankles tied together, he clamped her neck chain in an iron vise bolted into the side of the table, bringing her mouth to the level he wanted it to be.

The forest songbirds serenaded him, accompanied by her vague, wet gagging, as he clenched a handful of strawberry blonde hair and shoved his cock down her throat. The solid, repetitive thump of her skull against the edge of the table provided a soothing background rhythm. He was done soon enough, eventually (she could never decide), and flopped down on the floor between her legs to paint her a portrait with his lying tongue.

Of course she was wet, she'd been wet and hot since the moment he'd turned up in her quarters a day and a night ago. It didn't take much to bring her off anyway, so he did it again, and a third time, and again and again until she lost count with a sigh and mentally recorded the orgasms as _multiple,_ as though his mouth were an automatic weapon riddling her with bullets.

But, the sun was coming up, and there was much work to be done, and so he climbed to his feet, wiping his slimy face with the back of his hand and drawing his wakizashi to cut her bonds. Flashing her a pleasant smile, he vanished, leaving her to untangle her numb limbs and figure out where he had hidden her clothes before rushing down the mountain back to Seireitei and her Division, only to be impossibly late for work and forced to listen to a barrage of tiresome reprimands from her captain.

On this particular morning, however, Hitsugaya was especially grumpy, and threatened to take away her days off indefinitely as punishment for her incessant tardiness.

His cold, righteous anger instantly diffused into uneasy confusion as she unexpectedly burst into gales of sinister laughter, turned her back on him, and walked away.


End file.
